


Lioness' Pride

by egreed



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Australia, Family, Fluff, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Piggy Pop Pop, Rat daddy, Violence, roadrat - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-23
Updated: 2016-09-23
Packaged: 2018-08-16 21:14:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,244
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8117791
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/egreed/pseuds/egreed
Summary: Junkrat and Roadhog find an abandoned child in a dumpster, and get caught up in something bigger than they could have imagined.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by for-fawkes-sake on Tumblr
> 
> Also a shout out to froggyflan and pigdemonart! Super inspirational and friendly content creators!

"'M tellin' ya Hog, I ain't gonna make it to the next town. I'm gonna hunt me down something to eat." The sun had set not too long ago and the chill of the night had yet to set in. Normally that would mean something would already be on the fire, but they ran out of nearly all their edibles save a few jugs of water and some hidden emergency rations. 

Roadhog only grunted in response. He'd been in employment of the scrawny man going by Junkrat for a few months now. Any gusto he had for a meal, Junkrat could meet and then some because of his constant jittering and fidgeting. It was a real pain in the ass considering finding decent food in the irradiated wastes of the outback was already hard enough for one zealous appetite. 

The ghost town they were using as refuge for the time had already been long scoured for anything worth looting. No chance of finding any food there that didn't fight back. Roadhog usually did the hunting, as Junkrat had a penchant for not leaving much left to actually be eaten. He shot a load of scrap towards the black emptiness to try and scare something big enough for dinner into trying to flee. There was a tiny rustling in an overturned dumpster.

"Oh ooh Hoggy I 'ear sommin'."

"Too small. Probably a mouse." It was going to take more than that to fill two grown criminals on the lam. Scanning the area was an exercise in futility. He could hear his boss trying to creep toward the sound. It must have been pure luck that bastard had managed to survive before meeting Roadhog. If nothing else, it'd give Junkrat something to do while he ventured out to look for an actual kill.

"Hooley dooley! Roadie git yer ass over here and check this out!" Junkrat called out. Turning, Roadhog let out a gravel filled growl. This usually was enough to get his accomplice to shut up for a solid five seconds, but this time the giddy giggling and hopping around couldn't be squelched. For a moment he considered throwing his hook, saying fuck it, and ending the festering headache he'd inherited before cracking his neck and making his way over to see what had 'Rat riled up.

He peered into the dumpster, and did a double take. These days, it took quite a bit to warrant that sort of response, but by god this was a surprise.

Crouched inside, staring back with intense eyes, was a kid who couldn't have been more than five years old, clad in a dark, long sleeved shirt and an intact pair of jeans.

"No," was all he said, turning his head towards the scrawny man beside him who was already reaching out to the little trash child. He hadn't needed to know 'Rat long to know his clock wasn't ticking right, and with his "can-we-keep-it eyes" response to finding a mysterious child in the middle of nowhere in literal garbage meant Roadhog's already difficult life was about to get much, much harder. 

The child hissed and tried to bite Junkrat's last good hand.

"Hey! Don't be hissin' at me like a pissy lizard! Come 'ere my little garbage baby!"

"Jamison, you've had some ideas that were not good ideas. This one is actively a bad idea." 

"Watch it you cock. All my ideas are brilliant. Anyways, we can't jus leave 'em 'ere," he countered, turning his back to the little beast inside. "We're beyond the black stump, ain't seen nothin' on two legs in a week!"

"Exactly."

"Wot, ya think he's bait or sommin'? We'd 'a seen someone by now!"

That was what Roadhog was thinking, more or less, and he was about to pick up the wiry pile of headache and carry him away when the little ankle biter ran full throttle to Junkrat's turned figure, striking him between the legs with an improvisatory bludgeon before escaping and sprinting away.

"Ye little shit," he whimpered, crumpling into a small, sad pile. 

Roadhog followed the vicious child out of the dumpster, leaving Junkrat in the refuse to wallow in his mistake. He couldn't catch them on foot, and though his hook was accurate with years of practice, it was also deadly and despite his suspicions he couldn't bring himself to stooping to slaughtering a child. He watched instead. Nobody came, and eventually the small figure disappeared into the darkness.

"Oi you cock," Junkrat swatted at Roadhog's leg with his metal limb, "I thought you were my bodyguard." 

Roadhog picked him up and brought him to the sleeping bag, tossing him on top less than gently. Not that that was ever very careful to begin with. 

As they had for the past few months, they took shifts watching each others backs while one slept, but even in his sleep Roadhog was uneasy about what they had found that night. 

 

After a dingo's breakfast they hit the dusty, barren path towards the next cluster of bodies that managed to resemble a town. Because of the nature of Junkers, ranging from reclusive to near feral, Roadhog and Junkrat were normally seen as more trouble than they were worth when it came to an attack on their persons. So long as they stuck to small, Junker-run areas. 

Things were almost never that easy, though. More often than not, gangs bullied their way into some illusion of control over an area. Roadhog had no respect for those who were considered "authority figures." Anyone who tried to exert their will above his became intimately familiar with the inner workings of his scrap gun.

They didn't make it far before finding a small figure half hidden in the bush. If it weren't for the extra vigilance lingering from the night before, Roadhog might have missed it.

It was the kid from the dumpster, obviously unconscious.

Roadhog stopped his bike, but didn't kill the engine yet.

"Oi, watch that one. Tricksy 'lil shit." At least Junkrat had finally learned to exercise some form of caution. He settled his tiny frame into the sidecar and peered over the side, leaving Roadhog to do the dirty work.

"Hey," Roadhog gruffed to the child. They didn't stir. He picked up the tiny body, finding the long sleeve shirt absolutely drenched. Still the child didn't wake. In the light of day it was clear that although the child's clothes were uncharacteristically unsullied for a bushie, the kid itself was in a sad state, signs of severe dehydration immediately apparent.

He checked for a pulse. The child was still alive. A knot he didn't know had formed unraveled a little in his gut.

With a gentleness he hadn't given anyone in a very long time, Roadhog sat and removed the shirt while snapping the one word order, "Water," at Junkrat. The small man dove into a saddle bag and hobbled over with one of the last water rations they had. Roadhog splashed a small amount on the kid's face while Junkrat began pacing around them and rambling. Thankfully, Roadhog had quickly learned to tune out the chatterbox, unless he managed to utter something important.

Roadhog did everything he could to wake the kid, but couldn't get more than a groan and limp shuffle. Regardless of the circumstances he knew he needed to find a doctor for this youth. He was about to stand again when the nagging whine of Junkrat's voice got even louder and his hand connected with Roadhog's face hard enough to knock his mask crooked.

Taking in a deep breath, he finished standing, gently tucked the toddler into the sidecar, and picked up Junkrat by his harness. Roadhog threw his mask down and looked 'Rat square in the eye. This was the first time Junkrat had seen Roadhog's bare face, so now the only things between them were dirt, snot, tears, and blood.

"Ain't ya been listen'n to me Hog." Junkrat's voice was cracking and Roadhog finally noticed that while he had been busy trying to wake they mysterious child, Junkrat clearly had some sort of meltdown. He made sure not to show any form of concern, although the charge had managed to self inflict an impressive amount of damage. Especially since there hadn't been any explosions.

"Explain. Now."

"Spitfire Clan," Junkrat hissed through clenched teeth. There was a rage behind his embering eyes that Roadhog had never seen before in a human, despite his own personal history. The man he held off the ground was more animal than man, twitching and growling in a frenzy of hatred and pain. 

Roadhog dropped him and turned to the tiny body lying in his sidecar. Sure enough, on the right arm was a scar too old to belong to someone so young. It was the Spitfire brand, seared on the small forearm. He'd killed several Spitfire Clan members in his day. They were some of the toughest kills he'd ever had. There were even times he'd nearly fell in battle against just one.

The Spitfire Clan was the most feared gang on the entire continent. They believed anything they were strong enough to take, they deserved, including lives, land, and most notably power. They thrived in the rough outback, killing and stealing whatever they felt the whim to own. This child was considered the property of one of the members, and if they felt the need to brand them, that meant they'd kill to get back what was concluded to be theirs.

This was, of course, the ultimate overexertion of one's will over another in his eyes. Roadhog knew in the harsh landscape survival meant many things. Trickery, thieving, scavenging, murder. Whatever it took to make it to another sunrise. This, though, was unforgivable. He could not overlook slavery.

"There's nowhere we can take this kid Hog. Nowhere he'll be safe."

Roadhog replaced his mask silently and took his place atop his roaring throne. "Get on," he commanded and they tore ass out of there, newest member in tow. Junkrat's newfound silence chilled Roadhog to his core.

 

By no small miracle they arrived to a settlement and found a competent administrator of first-aid. He was no professional, and nowhere near a doctor, but with a loaded scrap gun held to his head he found it in himself to offer his services for free. In the meantime Roadhog had sent Junkrat to put his deft hands to work and "acquire" more supplies. There was no time for bartering, and they had already stolen much more valuable items.

Child now awake but still too weak to speak or try to escape, saddle bags full, 'Rat still festering in his blood-curdling silence, Roadhog drove. He drove deep into the outback, so far anyone who had heard about them in the town they just left wouldn't be able to spread word to where they were for a week.

By the time they finally stopped Junkrat had started to become his old self again. He made quick work of setting up camp with his limitless energy and got a pot of food started over the fire, chattering about everything he'd managed to pilfer and how his cooking couldn't be matched by any bushie out there. Roadhog knew that meant charred food for dinner.

As usual, Roadhog ignored most of it. He was still grateful to hear the buzz he'd begrudgingly grown accustomed to. He watched the small, serious eyes watching him back, more calculating than thought possible for someone so young. He had so many questions.

"I'm not safe," the tiny voice finally said, not breaking eye contact.

"No. You're not."

"You saved me."

"Yes."

"You didn't take me back," eyebrows furrowed gravely, the child said this in confusion. They had fully expected to be taken back to the Spitfire Clan if anyone had found them.

"We ain't steppin' foot near 'em!" Junkrat exclaimed, suddenly at Roadhog's side. For less than a second a sparkle of something that almost looked like hope shot across the intense black eyes that looked back and forth between the men.

"Don't scare the kid, 'Rat," Roadhog warned.

"Comin' from you ya pig masked brick shithouse! Piss off!" the scrawny man hollered back. 

Roadhog could tell there was a conflict going on inside the kid's head.

"Don't listen'a him. I'm the boss 'ere," Junkrat said, throwing a leftie to the severe child. "Jamison Junkrat Fawkes," he tittered. Honestly, Roadhog was a little impressed that he'd remembered his full name. Sort of. 

"Let's eat," Roadhog stood, motioning for them to follow him. His head was buzzing from not eating all day, and who knew when their company had last seen food. He handed out bent spoons and they ate straight from the pot. Inside the mushy, only partially charred concoction smelled like it was probably chicken. Maybe even a vegetable thrown in.

The three of them ate voraciously. For the first time Roadhog completely removed his mask to have his supper instead of lifting it for a bite. Jamison had now seen his face. 

"Gourmet soup. My best yet, I tell ya!" Junkrat exclaimed, massaging his swollen gut. Shameless as usual, he unzipped and pissed right into the wind.

"You piss in the dunny stupid," the kid spat at him with incredible sass. 

"The world is my dunny kid. The world pissed on me, so I'm gonna piss on the whole world right back! And now that you're rollin' with me it can be yours, too!" Junkrat gestured wildly into to outback. "Yer my cub now ya vicious little lion. Don't think I forgot that 'lil stint back there. But don' worry we can work past that. We're a team now. Roadhog, Junkrat, and my little Lion, Prince of the Outback!" 

Roadhog didn't bother to try to correct any of the rambling Junkrat spouted off.

"Ain't a lion," huffed the kid, but their shoulders, as well as Junkrat's had slowly relaxed. 

"Then what are yeh, eh?"

"I'm..." Those serious brows furrowed again, trying to think of a name, "Mouse."

Before Junkrat could butt in about the slapdash name, Roadhog cleared his throat. "I believe, Jamison, that your lion is a lioness."

 

The men cleaned up and broke down all but the bed, hiding how on edge they were from each other and the little girl who had passed out on the sleeping bag. 

 

"We can't provide for her the life she deserves." Even without the mask, Roadhog's voice was ridiculously deep. Some of the embers from earlier in the day reignited in Junkrat's eyes and he began to hunch over again, taking on a defensive, wild posture.

"No one can, Hog. E'en if we took 'er to the big smoke to live with some damned bots, they'd get her. Spitfire don't stop. They never stop." He began to subconsciously scratch at his metal forearm until he caught his nail on a rust patch. Clenching his fist he spat into the dirt.

"Besides," he started up again, running his left hand through his wild hair, "If yer the only one who's been able ta keep me safe, yer gonna be the only one who can keep her safe. Shit, Hog, they never even gave her a name." 

There was a mix of emotions running circles on the skinny man's face. Fear. Sadness. Anger. Hatred. Confusion. Hope.

"Ya know what," he said, breaking himself out of his own trance and waving his hands as if he were clearing a slate, "You can keep the fifty, don't worry about me. Just take care of her." He was pacing now, stuttering around and around about how he'd be fine, he'd survived alone before but she needed a chance.

Roadhog took him by the gaunt shoulders and peered into his eyes.

"I will keep the both of you safe. Go sleep." 

For once the small man was speechless. He nodded and curled himself around Mouse, tucking the far edge of the unzipped sleeping bag over her exposed arm.

Roadhog let them both sleep through the entire night. By the time morning broke he was absolutely exhausted physically and emotionally. Through the rise and fall of the moon he'd slowly sifted through memories he'd thought were gone and tucked them back into the heart he once thought was dead.

His eyes flashed open to an orange sky and an enormous noise. He ran towards it as fast as he could, fully expecting to find his charge and newest member of his rag-tag team strewn across the landscape.

"Oi Roadie! Up from yer nap?" Junkrat giggled, waving. Mouse was on his crooked shoulders, also waving. "I'm teachin' the littl' un how to make art!" he screeched as his laugh took over his whole body, threatening to drop the little girl from his heaving shoulders.

"Everything's coming up explody," she laughed. These few hours of bonding, Roadhog already knew, would mean weeks of teaching her not to do the things that Junkrat did. 

"Okay, Roadie settle," Junkrat started, setting Mouse down. Even in his rage Roadhog noticed she wasn't the child she was last night, but he wasn't about to encourage unsupervised explosions. "I was setting up some defenses, lockin' it down while ye were sleepin' so no one'd sneak up on us." 

"If there's an accident and she gets hurt it's not the mercenaries you're going to have to worry about."

"I already taught 'er where not to step. We're all ace 'ere," he said, shrugging and smiling a grin that turned guilty as Roadhog heard and loud popping behind him. "And I made her a few cracklers too. Can't lose more than a finger I promise!"

Roadhog briefly contemplated eviscerating the junker, but opted instead to make dinner. He wasn't in the mood for more burnt food.

 

They weren't stuffed, but they were satisfied. Junkrat had only been able to filch so much, and Roadhog separated what was left into planned meals to split between the three of them. Even though there was no other living thing around, Mouse still had her arm tucked out of sight. Junkrat had explained how he ripped the sleeves off so she wouldn't succumb to the terrible heat of the wastes, and that the only way to get her to ease up and forget about hiding it was to set off explosions. Hog had his doubts about the sincerity of the last part.

An idea struck him and he dug into the saddle bag for a bandana. He tied it around Mouse's arm snugly. She looked down at it. It was more than big enough to hide the Spitfire brand and could pass for a bandage.

"Thank you," she smiled quietly. That smile made the back of his throat hurt in a way that hadn't happened in years.

"Here little piggy," he growled playfully and started to tickle her. She shrieked and laughed a tinkling laughter that made the stars shine brighter.

"I'm not a piggy I'm Mouse," she giggled, out of breath. "You're the piggy. Piggy Pop Pop," she said conclusively, patting the pig tattoo on his gut.

"Aww does that make me the mommy?" Junkrat tittered next to them.

"No," Mouse said solemnly before smiling again. "You're Rat Daddy." 

 

The three of them lived day to day falling into a routine of scavving, scrounging, and scouting. Whenever they went to a settlement or came across less friendly company, Mouse had learned to hide until the danger had subsided. Knowing that if Mouse were to be recognized they'd have the Spitfire Clan to worry about as well as Junkrat's already bountiful visitors. This forced the skinny man to concentrate on something other than bombs. He'd grown protective of the girl so fast it was easy to forget that there had been a time they weren't together. 

When they slept he curled around her, sheltering her from the chill of the night and the nightmares she frequently had. In contrast, she sprawled out on Roadhog's belly, using him as a bed when it was his turn to sleep. 

Mouse learned fast and was generally well behaved. She seemed to enjoy her life. Roadhog didn't know whether it was because she was thankful of the men who had taken her in as their own, or because she didn't know any better. 

The trio had been traveling together for nearly a year now. With them keeping her fed, Mouse grew like a weed. To Roadhog's delight, she hadn't taken to the "toys" Junkrat made for her. Once she grew out of the cracklers she showed no interest in making anything bigger go boom. As often as it had saved their skins when 'Rat had a well placed mine or trip wire, Roadhog still worried about Mouse developing a similar affinity and getting hurt. 

Realizing how much time had passed, Roadhog wished he could find a way to give Mouse some sort of celebration. He didn't know when she was born, but she deserved something nice. Staring into the fire they had built for the night, he decided he'd figure something out. Maybe even grab something for the overgrown kid he worked for. 

Roadhog didn't know much about the man's past other than at some point he'd made his way to Junkertown, the largest settlement in the waste. By then he had already lost his limbs and managed to get hold of decent prosthesis. He looked out for himself and scavenged to survive. His adaptability kept him alive long enough to find secrets deep within the omnium that led Roadhog to him.

Business as usual, Junkrat got the first shift to sleep and settled in with Mouse. The nature of their lifestyle made them fall asleep fast. In time, Mouse had learned to be just as heavy a sleeper as Junkrat. As long as Roadhog was around to watch over them they were safe, but it was still troubling. He could feel himself getting older, the hard life seeping into his bones. He worried what would happen to them if something went wrong one day.

He paced the perimeter a few times, scanning the horizon around them. This was the farthest they had traveled from a settlement. Even survivalists had their limits. The openness of the landscape, though, made it nearly impossible for anyone to sneak up on them. In the quiet and still of the night, keeping watch over his companions, he indulged in thinking about their days together.

He loved Mouse and told her so. She had become a daughter to him. When it came to the other man, who Mouse continued to call Rat Daddy, he had started to find things about him endearing. The way his deft fingers worked on intricate details of his contraptions, the way his shorts clung to his hips like the lingering sensation of a kiss, the way he protected the girl they both loved as family sent an unexpected stirring in his heart that he couldn't admit to.

He was brought back from his thoughts by the sound of Mouse fussing in her sleep, murmuring, "Mommy..." with those knitted brows she got when she was thinking about the past. Roadhog always got a cold feeling in his chest when that happened, but he never knew how to begin to heal those old wounds.

He stroked her thick, black hair softly and she bolted awake, eyes wild and small fingers curled defensively into claws. Watching her from behind his mask, he waited for her to recognize him.

"Hmmm whuzzat?" Junkrat stirred awake as well.

"Shift's over," Roadhog grunted and settled himself into a half sitting, half supine position, leaving one arm extended for Mouse to snuggle into the safety of his embrace. Junkrat hobbled away for a quick piss and perimeter check. Once he was out of earshot Roadhog whispered to Mouse, "You miss your mother."

She nodded, eyes downcast. "They found her, but not me." Her lip began to quiver and she buried her face into his belly. This is what he was afraid of. Not the fact that Mouse's mother was dead; he coud tell by the way the young girl had never asked to go look for her. What made his heart bleed was that she remembered she had a mother in the first place.

"I'm sorry," the massive man's voice cracked. He held her tighter, safeguarding. He remembered what it was like to lose his mother, but he was much older than Mouse, nearly a man, when she'd been ripped from him. 

"Why do you wear that?" she asked, turning back to face him. Her eyes were dry, but he could still see the sadness in them.

"It keeps me safe so I can keep you safe," he said, ruffling her hair softly. He could see her mulling over this new information before kissing the snout of his hog-faced mask.

"Good night, Pop Pop," she said and settled down to sleep.

"Good night little Mouse," he replied, planting a quick peck on her forehead.

 

Morning broke and everybody packed up. It was time to get more supplies. It was routine. 

Roadhog was getting tired of that routine. Of being constantly on the move. They were running into trouble less and less. He had an itch to put down roots, properly raise the child he'd adopted. He'd teach her how to read and write and garden and fight. They'd been ingraining into her how to survive, yes, but only a nomadic survival that would catch up to them one day. 

It'd be nice to find a house they could clean up and fortify. Grow their food instead of pilfering. It wouldn't have to be big, just enough for the three of them. Maybe a side shed where he could work on his bike, a tinker space that would obviously be overrun by Junkrat. He'd ask for half, then say his was the half inside. He'd build and putter around in there while Roadhog and Mouse tended the more delicate things like laundry and growing food and--

"What're you looking at?" he growled at the filthy genius that was looking at him with a sly grin.

"How come I never get a kiss good night?" he teased. He'd been acting this was for weeks now. Roadhog chalked it up to the touch of radiation-madness the man had. 

"Get stuffed," he replied, pretending not to hear Junkrat muttering, "Ya ain't makin' it easy mate..."

They made their way to town. Roadhog was busy gathering the things they needed. He used actual money, though the cash was acquired in less honorable ways. Still, it was usually better to lay low than stir up trouble in every settlement they visited. They kept it at a healthy 90%. 

Junkrat was distracted. This was not unusual in normal circumstances, but when they were around other people he was usually more vigilant of Mouse. Because of his dreaminess, lost in thought about other things, she was the only one in the group to notice that her bandana had slipped down. Not far, but enough to reveal a telling amount of her scar. She quietly slipped it back up, looking over her shoulder to see if anyone else saw.

Everything seemed all clear.

 

Junkrat tucked Mouse in and hobbled towards Roadhog slowly, concentrating. He tried to start talking to the impassive mask three times before finally blurting, "So d' ya even like me or what?" He was twisting his left hand into his hair nervously. Wouldn't make eye contact.

Roadhog snorted beneath his mask.

"See thas' what I'm talkin' about! I don't know what you're thinking in there!" He started pacing in front of Roadhog, fingers twiddling here and there. "You know almost everything about me, I only got two secrets left mate. You even know what I found in that pit. All that mate, and I don't know nothin' about you. Not even your name" he was almost whispering now. Roadhog could see the slightest tremble in Jamison's lower lip. Roadhog's breathing was getting heavier, louder, rolling around in his mask. He took it off.

"What do you want to know?" he asked, barely hiding the shaking in his voice. 

"If I tell ya everything about me, tell ya tha last two things, I wanna know everything about you. We've been on the road for a year Hog, we got some catching up to do."

Roadhog nodded slowly, agreeing. Secretly, his heart fluttered. He had spent the past year of his life protecting Junkrat and Mouse. He cared for both of them deeply, but never allowed himself to get too soft; he had to be the guardian first and foremost. 

Taking a shaky breath, Junkrat started.

"I got a history with Spitfire." The fluttering stopped and there was a stab of fear in Roadhog's heart. He could feel his gaze turn icy.

"Not like that mate," Junkrat interjected, realizing his statement was misleading. "I was theirs. Their property. Other than Mouse I'm the only one I know that could ever get away. First time I got a chance to run, I cut it off. My burn. When they caught me they put two more on me arm and one on me leg. I weren't givin' up though.

"I planned it out for weeks. Stole some of their little bombs, strapped 'em right where they tried ta own me and let 'em rip."

"You could have killed yourself."

"Well I wasn't about to live there forever," Junkrat said with a pained scowl on his face. Eyes misty, he looked ashamed. 

Roadhog closed his eyes and took a deep breath to steady himself. He had always assumed the arm and leg had been lost in an accident. He was terrified of what those monsters had put his loved ones through and vowed that the next Spitfire Clan member to cross his path was going to die much slower.

He bunched the small man into a huge, gentle hug. Junkrat stiffened for only a second before melting into the warmth. Roadhog could feel a heartbeat like a fire alarm and couldn't tell whose it was. 

"What's your name? Your real name?" There was a desperate pleading in his voice.

"Mako," he whispered into Jamison's ear. He could see gooseflesh rise where his breath kissed the hot skin beneath him. 

"Mako. Mako Mako Makomakomako..." Jamison savored the feeling of the name in his mouth. Two short pops like a firecracker.

"Jamison," he broke the man from his self-hypnosis. "What was the other thing you'd never told me. What is the secret?"

His eyes scuttled around, bottom lip tucked between his teeth. Mako could hear their breathing growing faster, more ragged. 

"I--" he choked on his own fear, swallowed, and buried his face into the large man's chest. "I love you and--and my only other question is do you love me back?" He started sobbing.

Mako pulled away to look Jamison in the eye, wiping away a tear rolling down Jamison's cheek.

He couldn't stop himself any more. He drew Jamison into him, filling his mouth with Jamison's kiss like a drowning man fills his lungs with air. They kissed desperately, greedily. Neither could stand more than a breath between them. 

They explored each other with soft kisses and gentle murmurings. Mako's head was swimming. He got so dizzy he had to settle back, reclining himself against a nearby tree. Jamison came with him and they continued whispering praises and confessions they had suppressed for so long.

"When did you know?" Mako asked, watching the brightening horizon. They had been caressing each other all night and Jamison was tracing slow, indulgent circles across his chest.

"When ya told me you'd keep us both safe, Mouse an' me." His eyes were far away, remembering. "I saw it in ya, in your eyes. And when you had those huge hands around my shoulders and I could really feel how big ya were. How strong and tenacious and knowing you could crush somebody's skull with those hands--seen ya do it mate--and feeling how tender they were on me." He was grinning wide, running his bottom lip between his teeth.

"Would you be interested in settling down somewhere if we found someplace to stay more permanently?" 

 

10 years later

Mouse was outside practicing again. She had two long, slender chains. Twisted, razor sharp metal adorned the ends. Her body had grown lean and wiry, small shadows across her body hinting at the muscle beneath. Mako watched proudly from the dusty window.

She was absolutely beautiful. Powerful and fierce and cunning. She had grown so skilled with her weapons she could hunt with the chains alone. Her accuracy surpassed her father's hook. There was an assortment of utility bombs for her slingshot in a satchel on her hip. 

Their home had gone undisturbed for several years until a clean man came to them with a proposition. A quick job in Sydney. Mako had his trepidations, but his other half decided that the money was too good to pass up. An opportunity to go legit, live an easier life and provide more for their daughter. 

"We'll be back soon sweetie," Jamison said, muffled in a hug goodbye. 

"Okay." Mouse had been alone before, but only ever long enough for her to run to town if they needed anything they couldn't grow or make or catch themselves. For the first time she'd be alone in the house overnight. 

Once they had left, she decided to head into town and get a surprise for them. She gathered just one chain, a few smoke pellets for her slingshot, and two cracklers. No need to go armed to the teeth, but there was an uneasiness in her knowing she was alone. Everyone traveled with weapons anyway. It wouldn't be strange to see one more person defending themselves with whatever they could pull together in the rugged wasteland. 

In the distance something shone for a split second, catching her eye. "Probably just some of Daddy's scrap," she muttered to herself. There was twisted metal all around the property. Traps and mines camouflaged in bushes and piles of actual junk that they kept up even though they hadn't been bothered in a long time. They'd been there so long Mouse could navigate around the tripwires blindfolded. 

One last thing before leaving. She wrapped her arm in the bandana. The Spitfire Clan was still active of course. Just like the threat of someone reaching her parents for the secrets they knew, there was always a danger of someone turning her in to the gang, even after all this time, to curry their favor for her return. 

She shook the dark thoughts out of her head. She wasn't going to think about it. She was going to go to town, and pick up a luxury the house hadn't seen in ages: coffee. They all loved the rich, hot beverage. For someone so rough, Daddy sure had a refined taste when it came to coffee. Too bad that cultured pallet didn't apply to his cooking as well. Fortunately Pop Pop prepared most of the food.

She mounted and rode away on her motorcycle. 

 

It was already getting dark by the time she got back, the moon partially obscured by the nearby mountain range. It was criminal what people thought they could charge for some beans, but she knew it would be worth it. As she dismounted her bike something seemed off. The air was still and silent. Was this what it was always like, hidden under the sounds of tinkering and building and chattering? 

No, something was definitely wrong. Some of the dust around the property was disturbed. Her eyes darted around frantically, taking in as much of her surroundings as she could. Hanging in the motionless air was the smell of burnt metal and unfamiliar sweat and anger. 

She slowed her breathing the way she did when she hunted. Grabbing a silver snapper--an invention of her father's that could light a fuse on the go--she loaded a crackler into her slingshot and kicked open the front door. Seeing no one, she shouldered her other chain and began to check the perimeter.

Someone was here. No, there were several sets of tracks. Multiple people. The tracks were deep and wide. Men's feet, probably clad in large boots. Turning back to the house, she saw them. Behind the window of Daddy and Pop Pop's room were three sets of eyes, three malicious grins, three intricate tattoos of a crowned skull spitting fire and bordered in more flames.

She ignited the silver snapper, setting the short fuse of the crackler alight before loosing it right through the window. It was meant to be a distraction, but the small bomb in a stroke of luck lodged itself into one of the men's eyes before going off in the soft flesh. He screamed an animalistic howl, otherworldly as it ripped through his eye and eventually his brain. By the time the other two were outside he was dead.

Following their path with her eyes she loosed her smoke pellets to create some cover. Holstering her slingshot she drew her whips in large, spinning arcs. It was a two on one fight against members of the Spitfire Clan. Memories of fighting pits and slave drivers and death looped in her skull, threatening to lock her joints in fear. Straining her neck to the left and right she cracked it without using her hands and began to spin the deadly chains defensively around her body. 

She couldn't get to her bike safely, and even if she did they surely had their own transport. She had nowhere to go, but she did have one advantage over these superior warriors: she knew where every bomb, mine, and booby trap was around her home.

"Somebody's been waitin' for you for a long time," growled a husky voice, ragged from age and war. She could hear the cruel smile in it. She said nothing, continuing to twirl the chains she'd grown so familiar with. They were an extention of her arms. 

The smoke and dust settled and she could see they had guns at their hips, but hadn't drawn them. Her dance brought her closer and closer to the traps closest to the house. This was the last line of defense as far as warding went. The biggest and deadliest. If they managed to chase her through these, the traps became fewer and farther between. Meant to keep people from getting in, not preventing them from leaving. Still, they were her only hope.

She caught the chains under her arms just above the jagged metal fused to the ends and sprinted through the hidden minefield. They followed her single file, feet landing exactly where hers did. Shit. 

She spun, running backwards and threw one of the chains. The metal connected with the face of the first man. So far she had been lucky, but it seemed to have run out. Cheek sliced. She had missed his eyes. Sweeping the free whip low, she triggered a trip wire. Shards of metal ripped through all of the combatant's legs. 

In the darkness, the growing stains on her pants looked black. Her boots, knee high and reinforced, had protected her shins. It wasn't easy to get these, but it had been worth it. Gritting her teeth against the pain she stayed put, knowing a misstep would mean losing a leg. 

The younger one took the brunt of the damage. One foot had been ripped clean off, along with half of the other leg. He was writhing on the ground screaming in pain. He was still a threat. Still had a gun, breath in his lungs. Mouse turned to flee again. Icy panic ran through her veins. 

They breached the border, last landmine meters behind them. Mouse wasn't going back with them. She'd fight, even if it killed her. But they could be after Daddy and Pop Pop, too. The three of them together had to be one of the biggest scores in all of Australia. 

Releasing her chains and turning to fight she made up her mind. She was going to kill them. Failure was not an option. Not just for her sake, but for her family's. She would protect her home. 

"Lachlan's waiting," was all the old man rasped, hunched over aggressively. Her eyes darted to his gun. She knew he couldn't use it. Not on her. For what she was wanted for, she'd need to be alive. Then again, alive didn't mean unharmed. 

She slung the whip and it wrapped around the man's forearm. Before she could yank it back he grabbed it and pulled her towards him. Using the momentum she brought the metal butt of the other chain down on his face, gashing one of his eyes. At the same time, he brought his knee up, hitting her sharply in the gut. 

She had a slight advantage. Still wheezing she took her free whip in both hands and took her assailant by the neck. They grappled, and while he concentrated on liberating himself, choking and coughing, she swiped his firearm. Rolling off of him, she cocked it and shot him point blank. The sound stabbed the night.

Her face was covered in blood and brain matter. She tried not to think about it as she walked back to the other man. He was in hysterics. He couldn't bring her back himself. Hell, he couldn't bring himself back, and even if did he'd be euthanized immediately for his weakness. He stuttered and rambled in circles about it as she got closer, gun pointed at him. If she squeezed the trigger now it'd blossom right between his eyes.

"Any others?" she asked, unblinking. He continued to ramble. 

"If you don't do it, I will." Her voice was cold and flat. She could see something inside him break as he accepted his fate. He drew his firearm slowly and painted the sand. 

She surveyed the carnage, not allowing herself to panic. The night was once again still. A noise in the distance made her turn her body faster than she ever thought she could move. Almost too far away to see in the black of night, a large figure was walking away.

She watched the point until it disappeared. 

 

Lachlan Gray's phone call was cut short by the sound of shattering glass. 

"How unfortunate," was all he said.

If he wanted things done right, he had to do them himself.

 

"Oi Roadie, we can spend this cash later. Let's hurry back to Mouse, eh?"

That was already Mako's plan. He didn't like the idea of leaving her alone in the first place, but considering the complications they'd run into during their "job" he was glad to know her anonymity had been preserved.

It was a long ride home. He was exhausted, but his partner had been enlivened by the opportunity to dust off his collection of explosives and put them to use. He chattered the whole way about how beautiful the chaos and destruction had been all the way until the house came into view.

Mako's blood froze, heart exploding in his chest. The door was wide open. He could see huge birds swooping in lazy circles above his back yard. 

"Mouse!" Jamison screamed in torment, but Mako couldn't hear it above the roar of his machine ripping through the dirt.

They checked inside the house first, finding a body in their bedroom surrounded by shards of glass. His face was more wound than flesh. Flies had made their way into the exposed tissues. 

They found her meters from the house, collapsed to her knees and staring at the vast, open waste. She didn't react when they called to her, and when they finally reached her she was scraped to hell, but alive. Deep bags had formed under her eyes.

"Oh baby, my baby. Mouse," Jamison worried over her, trying to wipe the blood from her face. It had already dried on. He pressed her into him and sobbed into her hair. Mako gathered them both into his massive arms and carried them into the house. 

Delivering them to Mouse's room he brought Jamison a rag to clean her face. Mouse had passed out. Jamison nimbly disinfected and stitched her deeper wounds, internally impressed that, as it seemed, most of the blood he cleaned from her body wasn't hers.

While Jamison tended to Mouse, Mako collected the hot, putrid bodies, took anything of value, and burned them far from the house. The heat of the season had made them stink and it lingered on his skin. He could smell it through his mask.

Three. She had defended herself against three Spitfires and lived. 

 

Anything worth doing was worth overdoing. He'd heard it a million times from his partner, but he had never been more glad for that zealousness than he was now.

Once Mouse was awake, telling them everything that had happened, Jamison fluttered and fretted across the property several times, adding layer after layer of new defenses. Frenzied, he made explosives faster than Mako had ever seen, and they were bigger and deadlier than before. He drew smiles and scribbles on them like hieroglyphics. He had never learned to read or write, although Mako offered to teach him while he taught Mouse, but the scrawny man had refused. 

The markings on these fresh bombs could still be read loud and clear: you'll suffer for what you've done to my baby. 

Three stressful, drawn out days of waiting later there was a loud crack behind the house. Standing unharmed at the edge of their perimeter was Lachlan Gray. Several meters from his stoic form dust settled from the trap he'd set off just to get their attention.

Truly, Lachlan Gray was a sight to behold. Even in his age he was spry and muscular, covered in scars and tattoos. His shoulders were rolled back, chest out. Prideful.

"Gentlemen," he started, walking calmly towards them in the path of safety. Roadhog raised his scrap gun.

"No, Hog." Mouse stopped him suddenly as Lachlan continued towards them nonchalantly. "He's my father. If you kill him I'll never forgive you."

"What're you sayin' Mousey?" Jamison's voice broke, crestfallen.

"She's saying that she knows who she really belongs to," Lachlan breezed. The junkers bristled behind Mouse. "She's the last Daughter of Lachlan. Unfortunately for you, whether she comes willingly or not, I can't let you live for keeping what's mine from me for so long." 

The confidence radiating from him was impressive, palpable. It was beautiful to watch it shatter when his foot connected with the trap Roadhog had laid.

"Oh you really stepped in it, mate," Junkrat howled, throwing a mine at Lachlan's legs, separating them from his body in a shower of gore. 

From what Mouse had told them about the earlier attack, they knew they had been set up. They couldn't tell how long they'd been watched, but they knew any traps laid by Junkrat now could be easily avoided. So he acted as a distraction while Roadhog prepared the real trap.

Before either Junkrat or Roadhog could make their way to the haughty man, Mouse had already picked up a large rock. Knees on his arms, pinning him down, she mauled what was left of him.

"I don't belong to them!" she screamed, bringing the bludgeon down on Lachlan's face every other word. "I don't belong to you! I don't belong to anyone!" 

Roadhog watched, stopping Junkrat from intervening. This was her kill. He knew better than to try to stop a lioness.

She was feral in her rage. Fierce and wild. She continued to bring the stone down on his body long after it went limp. Body glistening from sweat in the moonlight she drew her knife and sliced off the brand that marked her as property and stuffed the flesh into what was left of Lachlan's mouth.

They left him exposed for the buzzards.

 

She slipped out into the night, walking her small motorcycle away from the house so the engine wouldn't wake them. Throat closing from the tears she was holding back, she rode off into the night.

 

Jamison woke up first. He was the one to find the note, but had Mako read it for him.

Thank you for everything you've done for me. Now that Lachlan is dead, the other six points of the crown are going to be after me. I can't bring that danger to you. I'm going back on the move. Don't worry about me. You taught me everything I know.

I love you so much Rat Daddy and Piggy Pop Pop. I hope we see each other again some day.

Mouse 

Mako knew a day would come when she needed to be on her own. He had watched her grow into a strong and capable woman and he was so proud of her. Still, quiet tears rolled down his cheeks. The house felt empty and too big without her.

"Oh Mako, what're we gonna do? We can't jus let 'er out in the big world!"

"We don't own her, Jamison." 

They held each other, remembering all the good times they had with their daughter. Mako began to gently kiss away the tears running down Jamison's face. 

"We should start moving around as well," he murmured, stroking Jamison's hair.

"Where to, mate?"

"Hear the UK's nice this time of year."


End file.
